


The Paws that Bind Us

by thecoldlightofday



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoldlightofday/pseuds/thecoldlightofday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request "the apocalypse is a little bit different, also Rick and the gang are animals." Slight Rick/Shane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Paws that Bind Us

Rick the Mongoose lifted his nose to the wind. He could not smell the walkers coming.

They could burrow here for the night.

“This is a good place,” he said, and watched Lori the Skunk waddle, ungroomed fur and little black snout, and start to dig her claws into the soil of the embankment. Her black and white tail twitched as dirt began to pile up behind her.

Andrea the Rabbit stopped rubbing anxiously at her whiskers and hopped over to help.

Rick stood up on his back legs to look over the group. They were weary, unkempt. Dale the Owl had messy, broken feathers in his wings. Daryl the Badger was covered in a thick layer of dirt. Carol the Bat would not stop screeching, as if she thought she could find Sophia just with sound.

“I can go out and bring something back, if you want,” Glenn the Mink said, still a dusky, summer brown. His fur would start to change with the seasons. Soon he and Andrea would be white as the winter snow. “Berries, a mouse, maybe.”

“Take T-Dog with you.” T-Dog the Porcupine snuffled and his quills shivered, gleamed. Not for the first time, Rick was glad they had T-Dog with them. Lori’s spray wasn’t always enough to deter the bigger predators and stink couldn’t kill walkers. All it did was attract them faster.

There was a crunch of the early fall leaves behind him and Rick felt the fur on the back of his neck prickle and he bared his teeth.

A low, purring grunt reassured him that it was just Shane the River Otter. He held Carl the Chipmunk in his mouth by the scruff of his neck. Carl hung there, pawls curled near his chubby cheeks, fast asleep.

“We’re okay,” Rick told him and it took Shane a moment, long pause and stretch of silence, before Shane gently set Carl down. “Thank you for carrying him.” It was difficult, to be on the run like this with Carl still so young. His legs couldn’t keep up and they’d all had to take shifts carrying the children.

“No problem, man.” Shane was distant and his fur was disheveled. Usually he was shining and sleek.

Shane’s ears twitched to the right. Rick listened and he heard a stream or river burbling, current slow and deep. Shane was going to leave them, one day. Rick knew it. Otters were made for the water. Traveling on land would get Shane killed. Rick understood. He’d done it for Rick, when Rick had gotten caught in that hunter’s trap. When they thought he was gone. But the tranquilizer had worn off and when Rick had woken up the forest was changed and dead.

“I’m gonna go see if I can catch some fish.” Shane wasn’t asking for his permission, but Rick would give it, always. And he had to suppress the urge to lick Shane’s matted cheek.

“Be back before it gets dark.”

“I always am,” Shane said and headed off into the trees.

Rick sat still, listened, and soon enough he heard the splash of Shane slip into the water, disappear beneath the surface. Shane was liquid as the stream. He would be back. Rick knew.

But one day he wouldn’t be. Like Morales the Beaver and his family, he would yearn for his home and his element. Shane would abandon them, same as Jacqui the Quail and Jenner the Dove had taken to the sky.


End file.
